Tide's Ebb

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by Alexandra Brenton




  TIDE’S EBB

  Alexandra Brenton

  Manroot Romance, Limited

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, except for the scene depicting the drinking game “butt luge,” which really happened. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. TIDE’S EBB. Copyright © 2012 by Manroot Romance. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Manroot Romance, Limited. ePub Edition October 2012 ASIN: B009RRNNB0

  Brenton, Alexandra. Tide’s Ebb. Manroot Romance, Limited. Kindle Edition.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – Proper. 3

  Chapter 2 – Fine Dining. 7

  Chapter 3 – An Eventful Engagement 11

  Chapter 4 – Breaking Down.. 13

  Chapter 5 – Just For One Night 16

  Chapter 6 – Rebound.. 18

  Chapter 7 – Date Night 20

  Chapter 8 – Moving. 23

  Chapter 9 – America’s Society Capital 25

  Chapter 10 – Rescue Me. 27

  Chapter 11 – The World’s Best Coffee. 29

  Chapter 12 – Spring is coming. 32

  Chapter 13 – The Seawall 38

  Chapter 14 – Fleet Week. 42

  Chapter 15 – Of Storms and Heroes. 48

  Chapter 16 – The Calm After The Storm... 55

  Chapter 17 – Friends With Benefits. 60

  EPILOGUE.. 65

  Chapter 1 – Proper

  Marianna Holt was tired.

  She had worked on the brief all night. Her hands twitched with caffeine overload and exhaustion. One of the other associates at her law firm had mucked up everything yesterday.

  She remembered their conversation clearly: “Jason, this brief must be filed by noon on Friday with the Southern District of New York. Make sure Harvard commas are used consistently. Can you handle this?”

  Jason had made a noise that sounded like “yes.” But when Marianna got the brief from Jason, it was a mess. Not a single Harvard comma!

  There was no time to spare. The lack of commas could decide the case. And if they lost, even Marianna’s Harvard education wouldn’t save her from the chopping block.

  Marianna always called serial commas “Harvard commas.” But Jason went to U Penn, Marianna brooded. And that’s not even a real Ivy League school. Why did I think he’d be capable of understanding? Under her breath, she muttered curses involving Jason’s wobbly bits and flesh-eating viruses.

  From the minute she discovered Jason’s error, Marianna began slogging through the brief. She had stayed up all night adding Harvard commas. This dedication was why, just two years out of law school, she was already the most promising young associate at Baker, McPrice, Rhodes and Phleger. But even after her all-nighter, still more missing commas beckoned.

  “Miss Marianna, here’s your mail!”

  Tye, the mail boy, was doing his rounds. He lingered a little longer than was necessary to drop off the mail—like he always did.

  After two minutes, it became annoying.

  “Tye, you’ve already dropped off the mail. You may leave now!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry Miss Holt. I get distracted sometimes,” he said, as he shuffled away.

  It was like that with most men. Marianna Holt was a singular beauty. She knew it. She was damn proud of it. Her raven hair shone like a Pantene commercial. Her petite figure provided the canvas for luscious curves that threatened almost to tip her over, although she had never once fallen over merely because of the weight of her pert, but ample, breasts.

  She had known since her junior year of high school that men loved her. But Marianna would not be dominated by a man—her beauty was matched only by her intelligent, feisty streak. Once men learned how smart she was, they were intimidated. Intimidated, like Connor, her college sweetheart. Sure, he had taken her to expensive dinners in Cambridge, but he was only a Sociology major. Marianna knew that he knew that he would never be enough for a woman like her.

  At her desk, Marianna recalled the day that Connor broke up with her. Oh, what was I thinking? Of course it was because he was intimidated! She was sure of it!

  For indeed, what man could resist the fiercely intelligent, feisty, raven-haired, feistally curvy cocktail that she represented? Like a wild mare, many had tried to tame her. Some had ridden, but eventually she bucked each of them off. Every suitor had walked off into the sunset with his wounded pride dragging behind a trail of tears.

  But Bradley W. Simpson Jr. was not the type of man to be intimidated.

  Marianna couldn’t help but smile when she pictured him. It wasn’t his immense wealth or his job as a banker (she thought at first that he was a bank teller!) No—Marianna was not shallow! Instead, it was his chiseled abdominal muscles, his tousled blonde hair, and his thick, powerful legs. Bradley was captain of one of the City’s premier rugby clubs. Despite his desk job, he was as rugged as an oil worker or some other profession where people wear blue jeans to work. She loved when he came home from a match, dirty with mud and grass, smelling of sweat.

  Marianna slipped into a reverie when she imagined his strong hands pressing with unrestrained passion on her round hips, possessing them as if they were one of his precious rugby balls. Bradley had massive hands—he could palm the ball in one hand. And, Marianna blushed, he could do amazing things to a woman. His hands could keep her safe, like the ball, before making a swift lateral pass to one of his teammates. And someday soon, he would propose, and then she could register at Bergdorf. Almost reflexively, one of her hands slipped under the desk.

  But no! There was no time for her to touch the soft folds of her femininity or that pulsing nub of flesh that now ached with yearning! No, the commas in the brief still needed to be checked! Marianna re-centered herself. The tender contents of her own silk briefs would have to wait.

  She worked furiously. The deadline loomed. U Penn Jason had forgotten an ungodly number of commas. But Marianna Holt, her youthful breasts straining against her blouse, was not the type of woman who would be defeated by punctuation. Only minutes remained as Marianna neared the end of the brief.

  But… Shit. Shit! She hadn’t checked the footnotes, and U Penn Jason hadn’t put a single serial comma in any of the footnotes either. It was superhuman what she did next—her slender, well-formed fingers typing furiously, probing each footnote for missing commas.

  Only seconds left.

  But, finally, she was confident that Harvard commas were used consistently throughout the brief. A crisis, on par with a natural disaster in a developing country that lacks adequate infrastructure, had been averted. Marianna could finally exhale.

  No sooner had Marianna pressed send at 11:59 a.m., her phone rang.

  Marianna looked at the display and picked up. “Hey chica!”

  It was Suzanne Santorini. “Hey Marianna baby! You ready for lunch? I swear, I could use a Cosmo!”

  “Suzanne! You shouldn’t even joke about drinking on our job! We’re lawyers!”

  “Oh Marianna, you just need to get laid more…. Come to lunch! Screech is coming too… and I’ll tell you all about what I did last night! ”

  Marianna smiled. Suzanne was kind of slutty, and it was good for every hot woman to have a slutty best fr
iend because being able to judge your friends is one of the greatest gifts of friendship.

  Chapter 2 – Fine Dining

  The two girls met in the office lobby, trading air kisses and squeals. Suzanne, a svelte brunette in a multi-colored pair of lizard-skin Proenza Schouler pumps and a red shift dress by Vince, looked great, as usual. Her best feature was her incredibly tight stomach. She would have worn a midriff shirt into the office every day, if she hadn’t already been told repeatedly not to. As it was, Suzanne always wore a padded bra and a funny hat to show how much of an individual she was. Today, the funny hat was a black beret, which she somehow pulled off without looking like Blossom in a red light district.

  They stepped out into the chill of a Manhattan December and began their walk to the restaurant.

  “So… let me tell you about last night!” Suzanne exclaimed.

  “Yes, please! What sort of adventures did you have?” Marianna lived for hearing about Suzanne’s sexual exploits—they were always so scandalous!

  “Well, you remember Bartender Brian from the Meatpacking District?”

  “Yes…?”

  “Let’s just say he’ll be packing some meat soon!”

  “Oooooh! He was hot. Give me details! Details!”

  “Well, he wasn’t paying any attention to me, so I flirted with his ugly friend from Brown. When Bartender Brian saw that, he grabbed me and pulled me into a cab. We made out like crazy in the taxi! We caused such a scene that the cab driver kept adjusting his mirror to see what was happening!”

  “Ha! Suzanne, you’re too much!”

  The young lawyers arrived at the restaurant—Adour at the St. Regis Hotel, a warm and comforting bastion of privilege in a city that had far too few of them.

  Screech was waiting for them. Screech’s real name was Alan Wall. But he was a dead ringer for the character on Saved by the Bell, so everyone called him Screech. He was in his late twenties, with a goatee that was just a little past its sell-by date. He was not a lawyer—he was an IT professional. This meant that he would frequently wear awful sweaters. In a bid to be cool, Screech had one ear pierced with a simple silver stud. He was a slight man. But as Marianna knew well, what he lacked in size, he made up for in other talents. Marianna got hot and flushed just thinking about it.

  “Hi Screech!”

  “Hey ladies! Anyone up for some oral?”

  Screech was obsessed with oral sex.

  “Oh, you’re such a kidder!” said Suzanne. But Marianna understood he wasn’t kidding. All of the ladies in the office had, at least once or twice, “ridden the goat,” as they liked to call receiving oral pleasure from Screech and his goatee.

  The three sat down.

  “Well, how are things with Bradley?” asked Suzanne.

  “Things are great! I’m so happy because I can really see myself being Mrs. Bradley W. Simpson Jr.!”

  Screech looked confused. “What does the ‘W’ stand for anyway?”

  “Oh, no one knows! It just adds to the mystery! His father was the only one who knew, and he disappeared years ago.”

  “And how’s the sex?”

  “Honey, once you’ve done a rugby man…” Marianna insinuated slyly. She knew that when she got home that night, Bradley would be waiting to ravish her. “He gets a little kinky! Sometimes, he’ll film us making love!”

  “And you let him? Miss Marianna Holt! I am shocked! Even I only let the boys film us bumping uglies if they promise to film in black & white! It’s so much more romantic that way…” Suzanne’s voice trailed off, clearly thinking about her own reverse cowgirl Casablanca.

  “Well, of course I let him! I love him—I’d do anything for him! Besides, he only focuses the camera on himself, so none of my lady bits are on film.”

  “Ahem…” The waiter had snuck up behind the threesome. “Welcome to Adour! May I take your order, or shall I return later?” The three laughed in embarrassment.

  Lunch was exquisite—toasted brioche with house-cured koala foie gras, carmelized masutake on a bed of Monkfish liver, caviar cleverly arranged in a trompe l’oeil to look just like Margaret Thatcher! Dessert was delicious, and Screech had somewhat vulgarly offered to perform cunnilingus on both of them as a digestif (which they respectfully declined). But then it was time to head back to the office, and the ladies said goodbye to Screech.

  “Did you see that waiter’s face when you talked about your lady bits?”

  “Ha! You’re such a bad influence on me.” The girls turned down Fifth Avenue.

  “Oh. My. God.” Suzanne stopped dead—she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or perhaps a really unattractive old fling.

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that… your man?” She gestured towards the handsome man with an iron jawline.

  “It is! I’m gonna go say ‘hi’ to my Bradley!”

  “You might want to think twice about that…” Suzanne beamed. “What’s that he’s holding?”

  Marianna’s eyes were drawn like a hawk, or perhaps some other bird known both for good eyesight and a taste for exquisite jewelry. Bradley W. Simpson Jr. was carrying one of those famous blue bags from Tiffany’s! Marianna shrieked with delight, for she knew that the blue bag undeniably held one of the famous blue boxes from Tiffany’s, which always contained what every woman wants the most.

  “I’M GETTING ENGAGED!” Marianna shouted, loud enough to attract Bradley’s attention. Marianna and Suzanne squealed and ducked behind the corner, just as Bradley’s perfect jawline jutted in their direction. They hid for a minute, making fanning motions with their hands, before Suzanne peeked around the corner.

  “The coast is clear! He turned around and headed the other way!”

  The girls hugged each other and giggled. “I can’t believe it’s finally happened! I have the perfect job, and the perfect life, and soon… the perfect husband!” Marianna’s heart was beating fast, like a beautiful butterfly’s, and she thought to herself, I have never been happier in my life, and absolutely nothing bad will ever happen to me again.

  Back at the office, Marianna could barely contain herself. For perhaps the first time in her life, she found it hard to concentrate on Harvard commas, or the inadequacies of others. It is so sweet what Bradley is doing! I’m going to head home early to freshen up for my man and meet him at the door wearing nothing but a smile. And perhaps some La Perla!

  She called her boss, Sam. She prayed he wouldn’t be upset. “Sam, I have a… doctor’s appointment. I have to leave work a little early… at 5 p.m.”

  “What?” Sam seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought the firm provided you with doctors who work outside of office hours?”

  “But…”

  “Is this a goddamn woman thing? This is why we try not to promote women at this firm!”

  Oh, that Sam! thought Marianna. Sam had a remarkable ability to lead and inspire. He’s such a powerful man!

  “Do whatever you need to do with your damn uterus. Just don’t get pregnant. That bullshit always affects productivity! In any event, I hope you’ve finished up with that comma placement project. You know what would happen if we filed a brief riddled with comma placement failures with the Southern District of New York! That is all.”

  “Yes, of course! Thank you, Sam!”

  The commute back home to Park Slope was strange. The train was full of people who were wearing awful clothes. They appeared to be workers or people who had only basic cable. Who are these people? Marianna wondered. And why are they headed home so early?

  Chapter 3 – An Eventful Engagement

  Marianna rushed up the steps of her Park Slope brownstone, dizzy with anticipation. She put her key in the door. That’s odd, she thought to herself, the second lock isn’t locked. She walked up the stairs to their bedroom, unable to contain her excitement at finally getting engaged and finding true meaning for her life.

  Instead, Marianna was in for the shock of her life.

  When she opened the bedroom door, it was like a scene from
one of those movies that Marianna would never watch.

  Horror.

  The TV droned in the background. Bradley was hanging by his exquisite neck from the closet door, a silver Tiffany chain around his throat. His pants were around his knees, his still-engorged member in one hand. His other hand was clutched tightly around a long cord that he had slung over the closet door.

  Marianna screamed, “Bradley!”

  To her shock, Bradley lifted his head. He was still alive! He mumbled, “Oh! I didn’t expect you home so early. Would you mind? I’m just about finished here.”

 

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